The Italian's Pregnant Mistress

by Cathy Williams

  He fulminated in silence as they stepped outside the restaurant, where the swing towards autumn was felt in the chill in the air. Francesca was making conversation, chatting about a television programme she had watched the night before. Normally, he would have teased her by adopting a viewpoint he knew would get under her skin and they would have a heated debate, even if the topic only happened to be something trivial that had taken place in one of those ridiculous reality shows she was addicted to. By the time they finished discussing the subject her cheeks would be flushed and her eyes dancing with pleasure at the sparring.

  Not tonight.

  He waited until there was a pause in the conversation, then inserted silkily, ‘You never told me, how is Jack? Is he between women at the moment? Or is he still dancing around the one with the kid?’

  Startled by the abrupt change of conversation and the tone of his voice, Francesca glanced at Angelo’s hard profile and felt her stomach flip over. She so much wanted this evening to go well but had to concede that she had ambushed her own good intentions from the start by antagonising him with her foolish speculations about wanting to talk to him, wanting to know whether he would ever see her without sex being the primary objective. She linked her arm through his and attempted to smooth the situation back to where she wanted it to be.

  ‘I know you don’t approve of Jack’s lifestyle, Angelo, but he’s happy and I have to say most of his women do remain friends with him.’

  ‘That’s by the by,’ Angelo dismissed. ‘Isn’t it about time he grew up and stopped depending on you for advice? If you want my opinion, the relationship you have with him is entirely unhealthy. How is he ever going to have the strength to do anything on his own if he knows that you’ll always be there, picking up the pieces and dusting him down?’ He refrained from voicing his primary concern, which was that Jack might have far too much influence over what she thought for her own good.

  Francesca was bewildered. ‘I’m not always around picking up the pieces,’ she refuted hotly. ‘Jack confides in me as a friend—’

  ‘And offers advice to you as a friend as well, I assume? A little word here, a little insinuation there? Has Jack been saying anything to you that would make you dissatisfied with what we have? I can feel your mood, Francesca. Has he been spinning you tales of what you should expect out of this? Maybe steering you towards something like commitment? Because, if that’s the case, then I can tell you straight away that it’s not going to work. What we have is sex and there’s no point spoiling a perfectly good situation by entertaining thoughts that it might lead anywhere.’

  Francesca was winded by the onslaught and barely had time to recover before he was continuing, voice hard. ‘There’s no mileage in thinking that I will end up the fool that I was three years ago, because I won’t.’ They had reached his place and she followed in a daze as he slipped his hand into his trouser pocket to withdraw his keys so that he could unlock his front door.

  He flicked on the light in the hallway and, without looking at her, strode into the kitchen so that he could pour himself a glass of something stiff and strong.

  ‘Oh, commitment is the furthest thing from my mind.’ Francesca couldn’t stop a note of bitterness from entering her voice. ‘Anyway, Jack would never preach to anyone about commitment. He develops strong allergic reactions just at the sound of the word.’

  ‘So what’s bugging you?’

  Francesca recognised the disgruntlement in his voice and told herself that she had no one to blame. It was her own damn fault. She had made a conscious and adult decision to take what she could get while she could, knowing full well that it was an ill-conceived decision, but allowing her heart to rule supreme over her head. Every choice had a price and the selfish ones carried the highest stakes. She wouldn’t think about that. Not just yet. She went up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist, feeling some of the tension seep out of his body.

  ‘Can’t a girl have an off moment?’ She rested her head on his shoulder and then stood on tiptoe so that she could kiss the back of his neck.

  Angelo laughed and turned around. He pulled her in to him and smiled. ‘When she’s in my company? How is it possible to have an off moment when in the company of Angelo Falcone?’

  And now his tension had completely evaporated, like rain on a hot summer’s day. The power of physical contact. At least as far as he was concerned, it made a nonsense of words. He didn’t want to hear hesitancy or doubt in her voice. He wanted her to be upbeat, cheerful and in a state of constant excitement. That had been the bargain.

  ‘You’re right. It’s impossible. After all, isn’t Angelo Falcone the most charismatic man in the universe? The most intelligent? The sexiest?’

  ‘A cynic might think that you’re being sarcastic but thankfully I’m no cynic. At least, not at the moment.’ He kissed her, a light, teasing kiss that evolved into a hungry demand, and felt her body weaken against him.

  ‘Shall we continue this in my bedroom?’ he asked softly, breaking off to tuck a few strands of hair behind her ears.

  ‘A bed might be more comfortable than the kitchen floor,’ Francesca agreed.

  They made it up to the bedroom in double speed. By now she was as familiar with his house as she was with her own, although the familiarity was only skin deep. She knew the format of its layout but since they rarely did anything normal inside it, like flop around with cups of coffee or watch television or even sit in some of the chairs with a good book or a newspaper on a Sunday morning, it still had the feel of a very nice, very comfortable hotel. The most intimate thing she did there, aside from make love, was have a shower.

  She had also put candles in his bedroom, ignoring his objections that they were a potential fire hazard. Atmosphere, she had told him. Nothing was as wonderfully atmospheric as candles flickering in the dark. And scented ones were even better. Every so often she replaced them and had been amused when, a couple of weeks back, she had discovered that he had added one or two to the collection.

  She got undressed as he carefully lit them one by one and she felt a lump gather in her throat. It seemed strangely romantic in a union that was devoid of all romance.

  She was out of her clothing by the time his ritual lighting of the candles was over and Angelo turned and looked at her, marvelling at the lithe, graceful lines of her body. Full breasts, perfectly moulded and topped with large rose-coloured nipples, a stomach that owed nothing to exercise and everything to her gene pool, slender hips and legs that were as supple as a gazelle’s. Any wonder she still had such a hold over him? What man in his right mind wouldn’t want to make love to a woman as exquisite as that over and over again?

  He stood where he was and unbuttoned his shirt. His skin felt hot. He tugged the shirt off and tossed it on the floor, then his trousers and boxers followed suit. He was heavily aroused and it amused him to see the way her eyes drifted to his erect manhood. He could almost hear the little catch in her breath. He took it in one hand and tantalised her by slowly pleasuring himself.

  Without saying anything, Francesca moved to the bed and lay down, stretching out provocatively and curling her fingers around the wrought iron railings of the bed head.

  Angelo moved towards her, hand still on his stiffened member, until he was standing right over her.

  ‘Oh, the games people play.’ He laughed softly, watching as she moved forward so that she could push his hand away and replace it with her mouth. He had never known a woman who was so adept at giving him pleasure, just as she was giving him pleasure now, licking and sucking the massive swell of his erection.

  He plunged his fingers into her hair and arched back, knowing that he was only a hair’s breadth away from spilling his seed. He had to exercise the utmost control, making sure that his breathing was deep and even. He tugged her gently away when he was actually aching from the need to ejaculate.

  ‘Oh, no, my beautiful little witch.’ Their eyes met and tangled in the half light. ‘I want to savour every last
inch of you before I get there…I want you to hold on to the iron rails and don’t let go, whatever I do…’

  ‘Sounds ominous. Should I be scared?’

  ‘Only if you’re scared of going to Heaven…’

  ‘That’s a big promise.’

  ‘And I’m a man who always keeps his.’ He straddled her and she held fast to the rails of the bed head. Her breasts pouted up at him, the rosy nipples swollen and sensitive, but first he kissed her, leaning down and supporting himself on either side of her with his hands. His kiss was hot and urgent and her body arched up until she could feel his member rubbing against her. Lord, but how she wanted him! Her body felt weak and helplessly driven.

  She wrapped her arms around him to pull him down and he tutted into her ear.

  ‘No cheating, now.’

  ‘I have to touch you, Angelo!’

  ‘In due course…Now, am I going to have to tie you up? I’m not averse to a little bondage.’

  A hot surge of excitement flooded her and she grinned at him, her breathing quick and unsteady.

  ‘Oh, you keep handcuffs on the premises, do you? Very kinky, Mr Falcone. I wonder what your mother would have to say about that!’

  ‘Not handcuffs, my little darling. But I do have a wide assortment of silk ties.’ He nibbled her neck while she writhed under him, desperate for him to press himself against her.

  ‘Silk ties sound like fun.’ Francesca couldn’t believe what she was saying but her trust in him was so utterly complete. Where no other man would ever be permitted to venture, she flung open the door to him. He wrapped silk ties around her wrists, so loosely that she could pull free of them at any time, not that she wanted to.

  Then, inch by inch, he explored her body, starting with her shoulders and working his way down to her breasts. He suckled on them, tugging the tips gently with his teeth and drawing moans of pleasure from her. Instead of rushing him to continue, she was constrained by the ties to submit to this leisurely exploration. His tongue trailed along her stomach, circling her belly button as his hands smoothed sensuously along her sides, then up to massage her breasts, to prime them for yet more erotic pleasure. His tongue rasping over her nipples dragged a groan out of her—a husky, animal sound that she couldn’t believe she had made.

  ‘This isn’t fair!’ Francesca panted, and he stopped in the middle of his sensory feasting on her breasts to glance up at her.

  ‘But are you enjoying yourself?’

  ‘You know I am! But I want you!’

  ‘And I want you too,’ he confirmed smugly. ‘In the meantime, lie back and have fun…’ He grinned at her. ‘Think of England!’

  Francesca thought of anything but England. In fact, she didn’t think at all. She just obeyed his command for her to have fun although it bordered on the impossible not to drag herself free of her silken trap when he parted her legs and inserted himself between them so that he could breathe in the sweetness of her femininity. A few flicks of his tongue and she was quivering and moving against his mouth, urging him on with her body.

  Angelo cupped her buttocks with his hands and brought her up to meet his questing tongue, which he slid rhythmically over her sensitised bud. He could feel it throbbing. He knew her body as well as he knew his own, knew when the time was right for him to cease pleasuring her in that manner because she needed him to thrust into her or else she would tip over the edge into her own private climax.

  Francesca’s body welcomed him in, moving in the same rhythm as his as he took her to a shuddering orgasm that left her trembling in its aftermath.

  He undid the silk ties and massaged her wrists.

  ‘Look at them, they’re ruined,’ Francesca said, turning the ties over in her hands.

  ‘Well worth the money I spent on them.’ Angelo grinned and felt like a young man who had just ravished the woman of his dreams. He cupped her breast with his hand, a gesture of possession, and Francesca’s stomach went into tiny, painful knots. She edged away and lay on her side, primly tugging the quilt up so that it covered her.

  ‘I think I’m going to have a bath now.’ It was the last thing she felt like doing when her body was still so pleasantly slumberous and content, but she had to talk to him and talking would be better fully dressed.

  Angelo gave a little frown of consternation. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I want to get cleaned up. You know…’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ He was feeling it again. That little nagging apprehension that had been there at the restaurant. He told himself that he was mistaken, that no woman who had made love as passionately as she just had would ever have anything to say to him that might cause him concern. ‘But if you really feel you need to shower, then go ahead. Care for me to come and help you?’

  ‘I think tonight I might manage the exercise on my own.’

  When she emerged, she was fully dressed and she saw his eyebrows raise in surprise.

  ‘We need to talk. I know talking isn’t part of…this deal we have, but…’

  He patted a space on the bed next to him and Francesca remained where she was. ‘Why don’t you get dressed? I can’t talk to you when—when you’re naked under the covers.’

  Angelo looked at her carefully. He heard the edgy wariness in her voice and he knew what was coming, what this little talk was going to be about.

  ‘Give me five minutes to have a shower. If you like, you can go downstairs and make us both a cup of coffee. I’ll take mine black.’ He strode past her towards the bathroom and shut the door. He leaned against the door, eyes shut, and contemplated what he was going to do. Sitting back and allowing her to spin him a story about walking away because she had finally decided she wanted more than he could give wasn’t an option. That carried the nasty odour of how things had been played out the last time around. Not quite the same but close enough. The walking out bit would certainly be the same.

  No, he would take the bull by the horns and dismiss her. It was always going to come to that in the end and if he was taken by surprise it was only because he wasn’t quite ready for her to leave his life. He still enjoyed making love to her, but he wasn’t going to cling on and try to persuade her to change her mind. In fact, he would rather have walked barefoot on a bed of hot coals than allow his emotions to formulate arguments his head didn’t want.

  He turned on the shower, making sure that it was as cold as his body could stand, and afterwards stuck on some jeans and a tee shirt. She was no longer in the bedroom. He went downstairs to find that the coffee had been made and she was sipping hers at the kitchen table. Next to her was her bag, a clear indication of the nature of the chat she had in mind.

  ‘I have something to say, Angelo, and it’s not going to be easy…’

  Angelo didn’t say anything. There was a buzzing in his ears and he didn’t know whether it was from rage that she intended to pull the same stunt on him again or frustration that he had let himself walk into a situation which had managed to bring him to this impasse. He strolled with his mug in his hand towards the chair facing her and sat down, looping his foot around the other chair so that he could drag it towards him. He was the picture of a man utterly at ease, sprawled on his chair, feet indolently stretched out on the chair he had pulled towards him.

  ‘Then let me help you along, Francesca,’ he drawled. ‘We had a deal and the deal hasn’t changed. The deal is never going to change. If you’ve suddenly decided that you need to tweak the rules, then you’re barking up the wrong tree. I want you for one thing and one thing only.’ The buzzing in his head was louder but his voice was perfectly calm, cold even.

  ‘Yes, I know that…’

  ‘No,’ Angelo cut in coolly, ‘I don’t think you do. Like every other woman under the sun, you start off with the right intentions but somewhere along the line the rules of the game begin to get a little unpalatable and you decide that it might be a good idea to change them—’

  ‘That’s not true! You don’t even know what I’m going to say!’ And beating
about the bush wasn’t going to do her any favours but the closer she came to telling him the truth the more she shied away from the hideous complications it would involve.

  ‘I don’t have to,’ Angelo told her indifferently. He sipped the coffee. He had been in control of their little fling and he intended to be in control of its demise. But there was a leaden feeling inside him that made him feel slightly sick. ‘At any rate, it doesn’t matter what you have to say. I won’t lie, I was enjoying our little romps…’ Romps seemed a particularly good word, reducing what they had to strictly sex but reducing it in a way that left no room for dignity or glamour. It was a basic, dismissive description and he saw the way she flinched in response. ‘But all good things come to an end and I just want to smooth the path for you by telling you that I’m more than happy to part company with you, no hard feelings. There. Have I helped you out at all?’

  ‘It’s not as easy as that…’

  ‘Don’t make a drama out of nothing, Francesca. It’s actually very easy.’ He looked at her impassively, noted the tremulous quivering of her mouth and steeled himself against the temptation to ask her questions, in fact to show any interest at all.

  Was that what she was doing? Making a drama out of nothing? If only he knew! If only he knew that the low dosage contraceptive pill she had been assiduously taking had been too late to prevent the baby growing inside her, the product of that very first time they had made love spontaneously and unprotected, weeks and weeks ago. It was only today, when she’d realised that her breasts were feeling heavier than usual and more sensitive than they normally did, that the period she should have had during the gap in the little white tablets had been noticeable only by its non-appearance, that she had been feeling queasy at the sight of coffee and the smell of fried foods—disastrous for a chef and something she had ignored to start with—only now had she turned cold at the possible nightmare situation she might be facing.